Date: Thu, 20 Jun 2002 12:53:21 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tom Borden
Subject: "My Father, My Son" 53rd Installment
This is Chapter 53, a continuation of "My Father, My Son." All of the
conditions, warnings, and disclaimers listed at the beginning of the early
chapters of this series apply. All comments are welcome, constructive or
destructive, and will be responded to.
Send to: Tom Borden, tombor99@yahoo.com
My Father, My Son
Chapter 53
Detective Sergeant McDougal greeted all the suspects as they arrived in his
office.
Dick Watson said, "I hope you make this quick, McDougal. I don't have all
day. I don't know why the hell I'm here."
"You're all here because among you are suspects in the murder of Elmer
Flatt," said McDougal calmly. "I want you all to hear the evidence we've
gathered in this case. Motive is the important thing here, and there are
more than one of you who did have motive to kill.
"You, Cheryl Watson, had been having an affair with Flatt, but he insulted
you and told you he never wanted to see you again."
"Well," shouted Cheryl, "you don't have to advertise it to everyone!"
"Shut up, Cheryl," growled her husband. "Everybody on the floor knew you
were getting dicked by that son-of-a-bitch!"
"Now there's no need for these outbursts. I want you all to sit and listen
to me," said McDougal. "In your own words, Cheryl, you were angry enough
to kill him for giving up on you. You caught yourself when I interviewed
you just as you were about to tell me you wanted to kill him."
"But I didn't kill him," Cheryl said with fire in her voice.
"And you, Dick Watson," continued McDougal, "knew about the affair your
wife was having with Flatt, and were so angry about it, you could have
killed him."
"Sure, I was angry, but I wasn't going to kill him."
"But it was very clear that you were glad he was dead."
"Now, you Harry Anderson," said McDougal, pressing on. "Although you
didn't particularly like Elmer Flatt, you said you hardly knew him."
"That's right."
"But your wife told us that on many occasions you had verbal shouting
matches with him, and at one time even punched Flatt in the nose. You also
told your wife that you would do worse if you ever got the chance."
Harry shot a menacing glance at his wife, Marge.
McDougal continued. "Could it be that, when you talked to me, you were
hiding the fact that you really did know and hate Elmer Flatt, just in
order to take any suspicion off of yourself?"
"Well, I . . . ." stammered Harry.
Turning abruptly to Flatt's wife, McDougal said, "Mildred Flatt, you were
Elmer's wife, and . . . ." "I told you once," snarled Mildred. "I didn't
kill nobody. Damn! I need a cigarette!"
"Just a minute, Mildred," said McDougal as he held up his hand. "By your
own admission, you knew about your husband's dalliances with Cheryl Watson,
and you were very angry about it. You fought with your husband over it,
and you were of a mind to leave, except for the fact that you had no money
of your own and no place to go. But you knew that he had $50,000 dollars
insurance payable to you. When he threatened to cancel that insurance
during the argument you had with him the day before he was murdered, you
killed him before he had a chance to cancel it. Isn't that right?"
Mildred rose from her chair and screamed, "That is a filthy lie! I never
killed nobody!"
"Calm down, Mrs. Flatt," said McDougal calmly. "We're not done here yet."
"Now, Adriano Cinella," said McDougal turning in his chair. "You seemed to
have been painted the good guy in all of this. Motive for murder? Can't
find any, to be frank with you." Getting up from his chair, McDougal
walked over and stood in front of Mario. Looking down at Mario, he said,
"But you, Mario Cinella. Let's talk about you. You don't like being
called a Dago or a Wapp, do you?"
"Of course not," murmured Mario.
"And you told him so, didn't you?"
"Yes."
You had loud and ferocious arguments with him, too, didn't you?
"Yes, I did, but . . . ."
"Mrs. Anderson told us that she looked out her door during one of these
arguments," said McDougall calmly, "and she plainly heard you say that you
would see him dead before you would move out of the building. Do you
remember saying that?"
"Well, maybe I said that, but . . . ."
"There can't be any buts about a threat like that, Mr. Cinella," said
McDougal. "As you know, we obtained warrants to search all of the
apartments on that floor. Do you know what we found in your apartment,
Mr. Cinella? We found in a drawer a fancy wooden box that was made to hold
eight stainless steel steak knives. But one of them was missing. Do you
know where we found it? We found it sticking out of Elmer Flatt's chest."
"It wasn't me, Sergeant McDougal!" pleaded Mario. "I hated the man, but I
didn't kill him."
McDougal walked around the back of Mario's chair and, still looking down at
him, said, "It was determined that Mr. Flatt was killed about 7:00 p.m.
Mrs. Watson told me that, from her window, she watched you and your son
walking to Adriano's car about 6:45. Then a few minutes later, as she was
about to take the elevator down to the first floor to check for mail, she
saw you getting off of the elevator, looking distressed and in a hurry as
you proceeded down the hall. That would have placed you in front of Elmer
Flatt's door at about 7:00, where you stabbed Mr. Flatt to death when he
opened the door!"
Adriano jumped to his feet, and shouted, "That's not true! My father went
back to our apartment simply to get his wallet that he had forgotten. My
father would never hurt anyone! You're barking up the wrong tree,
McDougal! You'd better go back to your evidence and look again!"
McDougal smiled and slowly walked back and sat down in the large leather
chair behind his desk. Still smiling, he said, ladies and gentlemen, thank
you for your patience. You're now about to see real detective work in
action. There is yet one other suspect"
Nodding at the police officer standing at the door, he said, "Alright,
officer, bring him in."
Everyone in the room turned in their chairs to look. Standing there in the
doorway, flanked by two police officers who were each holding him by one
arm, was Charlie Lipton, unshaven and disheveled.
"I'm sorry that you were not able to join us during our little chat,
Mr. Lipton," said McDougal, "but as you know, you are a difficult man to
locate and apprehend."
Adriano sat shocked, barely able to mouth the name "Charlie."
"Charlie," began McDougal, "Have you ever heard the saying, 'Murder will
out?' Well, it's out now. Do you want to know how I knew it was you? Of
course you do," said McDougal with a patronizing smile. "Let's start at
the beginning, shall we? After you moved in with Adriano Cinella, you got
to know Mr. Flatt and, according to witnesses, you had a number of friendly
conversations with him in the hall outside of his door. Mr. Flatt, in
fact, invited you in for something to drink on at least one occasion,
according to Mrs. Flatt. It seemed strange that you, and only you, were
the only resident on that floor who got along with the man.
"We had Flatt's bank records carefully checked, and found that over a
period of approximately ten months, he had written several checks payable
to you. One was in the amount of $27,000, another in the amount of
$18,000, and three others, each for $20,000. Can't you imagine how curious
we became, Charlie? We then made a very close check of Mr. Flatt's
background, and found that eight years previous he had been convicted of
cocaine trafficking. He spent only one year in prison, and was released on
a technicality. An overzealous prosecutor made some serious mistakes in
his trial. Mrs. Flatt told us that during the period when you lived in the
building, her husband would go out into the hall a number of times and
return with a small package, which would later be picked up by someone else
a day or two later.
"We also made a thorough search of Mr. Flatt's private papers he kept in a
lock box in the apartment. In it we found a copy of a letter he had
written to you about two weeks before he was murdered, in which he told you
he could not pay you the $31,000 he owed you for the last 'bundle,' as he
called it. He was having trouble collecting from those persons he was
supplying. The address on the letter, by the way, was very helpful to us
in locating where you lived. We found another letter, this one dated only
four days before he was murdered. In this one, he very emphatically stated
that the money could not be raised and that he was thereby severing his
relationship with you.
"This news, of course, infuriated you, Charlie, and you went to Flatt's
apartment to confront him. When he answered the door and came out into the
hall to talk with you, it is very likely that he once again refused to hand
over the money. At that point, you pulled out a knife and stabbed
Mr. Flatt five times in the chest, killing him. Oh yes, the knife. When
you moved out of Adriano's apartment, you stole several items, which
Adriano had found missing after you left. One of the items you stole was
one of the steak knives from a set of eight. You were very careful to wipe
your prints off of the handle. But you had apparently grabbed Flatt by the
shirt front and left your fingerprints clearly discernable on the smooth
metal medallion that Flatt wore on his string tie."
"I didn't do it," growled Charlie, as he purposely looked away, avoiding
Adriano's stare.
Sergeant McDougal stood up and said, "Okay, officer, handcuff him and take
him out and read him his rights. Then lock him up." As Charlie turned to
go, McDougal said, "Charlie, they're going to give you a pair of bright
orange overalls. They'll look nice with that great tan of yours. You'll
be arraigned in the morning in circuit court."
As Charlie was led out of the room, everyone sat in stunned silence.
Adriano put his arm around his father's shoulders, and they sat silently
with their eyes turned to the floor. Adriano felt hurt and angry that all
of this had been going on while Charlie was living in his apartment and
sharing his bed. Everyone slowly got up and walked silently out of the
room. Dick Watson actually had his arm around his wife Cheryl's waist, as
Cheryl leaned her head against her husband's shoulder. It had been a
terrible ordeal but, as incredible as the news of Charlie's guilt was to
everyone, it was now over.
Sergeant McDougal shook Adriano's and Mario's hands, and apologized for
putting them in the middle of the little drama that had taken place in that
room. He said, "I'll walk outside with you. I need a cigarette bad!"
When Adriano and Mario arrived home, Adriano asked, "Why were you so upset
that night after the murder, dad? You were acting so strange, you scared
me. It was almost as though you had killed the man yourself."
Mario said, "I remembered that Mrs. Anderson was looking at me when I said
to Flatt that I would see him dead. I was just terribly worried that she
would tell someone, and that I would be accused of killing him."
After the terrible tension of the day, Adriano and Mario hugged each other,
and the wonderful relief they now felt brought tears to their eyes.
Clayton had read the letter from Jared more times than he could count.
Michael could tell from the look on Clayton's face over the past several
days that he was going through a terrible conflict in his mind over whether
or not he should visit Jared.
Michael finally asked Clayton to come into his office. He said, "Okay,
Clayton, I think we'd better drive up and visit Jared in the hospital. I
know that you've been worrying about it, and I suppose it's only right that
I go and see him too. We are brothers, after all. And it would probably
be wrong for me to abandon him completely under the circumstances of his
condition, even considering all the hate he had in his heart for me. We'll
drive up there in the morning. Okay?"
Clayton looked at Michael and said, "I'm really sorry, Michael, that I want
to do this. I keep worrying that you will think I . . . you know . . . ."
"I know, Clayton," said Michael, taking Clayton in his arms and kissing him
on the forehead. "You're my son now, and that will never change.:
Clayton said, "Going up to see Jared has nothing to do with that. I just
have this feeling I should do the right thing . . . that I should do what I
think you would do if you were me."
That evening, Michael received a call from Father Taft at the prison.
"Mr. Walker, have you decided whether or not you wish to visit your
brother?"
"Yes, Father, we're driving up to the prison tomorrow morning."
"Well, I'm glad I caught you," said Father Taft. "The reason I'm calling
is to tell you that Jared Walker has been transferred to a secure care area
of Dallas General Hospital. He's still in a coma, and not in good shape at
all. The doctors here at the prison felt he needed specialized care, only
available in Dallas."
"Thank you, Father, for calling. Are they allowing visitors to see him?"
"Yes, but he's in the ICU and the visiting time is very short."
When Michael and Clayton arrived at the hospital the next morning, the
nurse at the desk in the ICU informed them that only one visitor at a time
was allowed into a patient's cubicle, and only for ten minutes.
"You go ahead, Clayton," said Michael. "I'll wait out here."
Clayton stood by Jared's bed and looked down at him. Clayton had seen only
one dead person in his life, and Jared looked very much the same. Clayton
didn't recognize him at all from the last time he had seen Jared. He
looked old and emaciated.
"Hello, Jared," Clayton said finally. "I'm sorry you're not feeling
. . . I mean, I'm sorry what you did . . . . I mean, I'm sorry to see you
like this."
Clayton looked into Jared's face and suddenly realized he was feeling
nothing. He felt no sympathy, he wasn't sorry about anything that Jared
was going through. The person who was lying there, connected to a dozen
tubes and monitors, was a stranger. This person had no meaning at all to
Clayton. He felt no hate, he felt no love, he felt nothing.
Leaving the cubicle after only about five minutes, Clayton said, "Okay,
Michael, if you want to see him, he's all yours."
Standing at the foot of Jared's bed, Michael shook his head and said, "You
damned fool! Look at you now. Look at what a damned mess you've made of
your life. If mom were alive today, it would kill her to see what a
fucking mess her favorite son has made of his life. I don't even know why
I'm here. Just to watch you suffer, maybe. No, I don't really mean that.
I hate to see any animal suffer."
Going around to the side of the bed, closer to Jared's head, Michael said,
"I remember that time when we were kids, and you got thrown by that horse.
You were knocked out cold, and you broke your leg. It was just like this.
I'd stand by your bedside and pray that you'd get well so we could go out
and play again. No, I guess it wasn't just like this, at all. I've asked
myself a thousand times why what you and I had in those days couldn't
continue. You were my big brother, and you could do no wrong. Do you want
to know something silly? I was even jealous of the cast you wore on your
leg. When we went to school, the other kids all gathered around you
wanting to see it and sign their names on it. You were like a hero of some
sort."
Michael stood, looking down at Jared. Again, shaking his head slightly, he
said, "I look at you, but I hardly know you. You're not the Jared I knew.
You're a stranger now.
With tears beginning to brim over in Michael's eyes, he sat down in the
chair close to the bed. He slowly reached up and touched Jared's hand with
his fingers. "I don't want you to die, Jared. I really don't. Funny,
isn't it? You don't know how many times I've wished for that old big
brother of mine to come back."
Standing up, Michael leaned over and kissed Jared lightly on the forehead.
"I'll be back to see you again."
Leaving the cubicle, Michael took Clayton by the arm and said, "Okay,
Clayton, we might as well get back to the ranch." In the car, Michael
said, "Clayton, are you alright?"
"Yeah," responded Clayton. "I guess I'm glad we came. But we really
didn't need to. I didn't feel anything when I looked at him. He's a
stranger, and always will be. Anyway, I've satisfied myself. And I don't
want to see him again. How about you? I know you didn't want to come, and
I know it wasn't pleasant for you. But I thank you for driving me up here,
anyway."
"That's okay, Clayton. I realize it was something you had to do."
Clayton and Michael sat quietly and spoke little on the way back to the
ranch. Clayton finally turned and said, "Michael, it's not like you to be
so quiet. Is something wrong?"
"No, no, Clayton. Nothing's wrong. I guess I'm just a little tired."
When Steve arrived back in the small New England town where he had left his
wife, he was anxious to end the separation they had had, and to have a sort
of "new beginning" with her and their marriage. He had planned on staying
in a motel the first night back. Then, after he was rested and fresh, he
would call her the next day and tell her he was on his way home. His stay
at the motel, however, extended to more than five days. Steve had not
realized that it would happen, but that old conflict in his sexuality had
suddenly started gnawing at him almost as soon as he arrived at his motel.
On that first night, he lay in bed, instinctively stroking his penis, as he
always did before going to sleep. And also, as he always did, he summoned
up his most erotic fantasies that would bring him ultimately to orgasm. He
had looked forward to lying in bed once again with his wife with their
naked bodies pressed close together. The feel of her breasts, the wetness
of her pussy, the passionate kisses. As he stroked, he tried to bring
those images into his mind. But try as he may, those images faded and were
pushed aside by images of Dan's body, the taste of his sperm, and the feel
of his own penis entering Luke's asshole. As Steve reached around and
pushed his forefinger into his own hole, he imagined only the feel of
Tony's hard rod coursing in and out, the feel of Caleb's penis inside of
him. He could almost feel Caleb's hot, moist body pressing against his
after Caleb shot all he had into him and then collapsed on top of him.
All of these images raced through his mind as he felt his own penis getting
harder and harder and as he came closer and closer to that wonderful
orgasmic feeling. It wasn't the thought of his wife that was bringing it
on; it was the thought of Dan, Luke, Tony, and above all, Caleb. Even as
he watched the long ribbons of white, creamy cum shoot from the end of his
penis onto his chest and stomach, he imagined it issuing from Caleb's
penis.
The next day, it became very clear to Steve what was happening. The
conflict that he had been suffering before he and his wife separated had
now become more intense than ever. Perhaps, he thought, once he was back
in bed with his wife, those images of the guys down on the Walker Ranch
would fade. He was determined to work on it and eventually learn to live
the "normal" life of a "happily married man."
Although Steve's masturbation fantasies remained the same for each of the
five nights he stayed at the motel, he knew that he had to "bite the
bullet," so to speak, and get on with the business of saving his marriage.
On the sixth day, Steve nervously called his wife. When she answered the
phone, Steve was surprised that she seemed to have an indifferent kind of
attitude. She seemed pleased enough to hear from him, but at the same
time, there was a little anger and impatience that came through in her
voice. As they talked, Steve began to get the impression that, if he came
home, she would take charge of the situation . . . almost as though she
were intending to make the rules of engagement that he would be expected to
follow. But he would nevertheless make a special effort to be agreeable
and loving and accommodating.
Steve ate one last supper at the motel restaurant before driving home.
Arriving at about eight in the evening, his wife welcomed him with open
arms. As they sat and talked, Steve began to feel that slight smothered
feeling he had hated so much before he left for Texas. There she was, he
thought, being very nice, but at the same time, making sure she was in
control.
Eventually, Steve and his wife were in bed, naked and kissing passionately.
Running his hands over her body, he suddenly found himself comparing the
softness and lack of muscular tone of his wife's body with the hard ridges
of muscle he had enjoyed feeling on Dan and Luke and on Caleb. The intense
sexual frenzy he had experienced while running his hands and tongue over
the firm, rolling muscles of Caleb's body was totally missing when he
touched his wife's body. Also, as he brought his face down to her crotch,
he was wishing his mouth would find a magnificent, hard penis to bring into
his mouth.
Steve's hope that the male images would fade did not happen. Through the
entire night, he fantasized only about his friends in Texas, mainly Caleb.
When he fucked his wife that evening, he came rather quickly because his
mind was flooded with the fantasy of fucking Caleb. He knew what his quick
ejaculation would trigger. It had happened before. His wife had not cum,
and she was feeling left out. She even hinted, as she had so often done in
the past, that he had no regard for her feelings, only his own. He never
ran into that kind of thing with the guys down at the Walker Ranch. Why
did he have to put up with that now, he thought. The best he could do was
to masturbate her with his finger.
After his wife had fallen asleep, Steve lay there wide awake, convinced
that nothing has changed and nothing will change. But even then, he was
determined to give it a try. He had always labeled himself bi-sexual. But
had he been fooling himself all his life since the time sexual feelings
first took hold of him around the age of eight? Had the idea of pure
homosexuality been too "non-normal" and bitter a pill to swallow and apply
to himself? He had promised himself, though, that he would do his best to
save the marriage, and that is what he would do.
Over the next week, however, Steve's thoughts of the wonderful short life
he had spent in Texas never subsided. In fact, they became more intense.
The old routine with his wife was back and, instead of being content with
it, he began asking himself why he thought he wanted to save the marriage.
It wasn't as though they had children to think of. It would just be the
same old grind of living her life for her and living his own life the way
she expected him to. What he was beginning to realize was that he really
wanted that experience in Texas to extend to his last days on Earth. His
wife was not a shrew or a witch or anything like that. But she was
demanding of his time and she unknowingly began to make Steve feel he was
being smothered. And worst of all, his attraction to and his sexual
longings for men were beginning to overtake him emotionally.
On those few occasions he could find himself alone, he began viewing the
stories on the Nifty Archive on the internet. When he started
corresponding with some of the authors of his favorite stories, he realized
more than ever how much he was missing.
One evening when his wife had gone out, Steve's desire to connect once
again somehow with his friends in Texas became so intense, he phoned the
ranch. Tony answered.
"Tony, this is Steve. Remember me?"
Tony squealed, "Of course I remember you! Where are you?"
Steve said, "I'm back in my hometown up in here in New England. I just got
kind of lonesome for you guys. What's going on down there?"
Tony said, "Well, Michael and Jeff and Paul have been having a small dinner
party this evening for Adriano and his dad, Mario. Did you know them?
"Yes, I met them once."
"Mario's from Italy, but he's planning to stay now and get his
U.S. citizenship eventually. I don't know if you can hear them, Steve.
They're out on the front verandah laughing and having a wild time."
"Yes, I can hear them. Do you think you could drag Michael away for a few
minutes? I'd sure like to hear his voice again and chat with him."
Steve could hear Tony calling Michael to the phone.
"Hello! Is this Steve?"
"Hi, Michael," said Steve. "I was just thinking about you and all the
guys, and thought I would call."
"I'm really glad you did, Steve. I hope things are working out up there
like you'd hoped."
"Well, that's debatable, Michael. I really miss being down there with you
guys. How's Jake and Enrique and Jeff and Clayton?"
"They're all just the same, Steve."
"And how's Caleb and Noah?"
Michael said, "Well, you know that Noah and Ricky are living together here
in the house now. Caleb realized that that was probably best, and he went
and got himself a really nice condo in Goliad. You know he has a big law
practice there. He had planned on living with Noah and making a life
together. But since that isn't happening, he's living alone."
Steve said, "Michael, I really liked Caleb. You probably don't know about
it, but just before I left the ranch, he and I got together for just a
short time in my room. I really like him. In fact, I have to admit to you
Michael, that I can't get him off my mind."
"Well, let me tell you, Steve," said Michael. "I was over at Caleb's new
condo not long ago, and he was asking me about you. Yes, I did know that
the two of you got together. He told me. And he said he's been thinking
about you ever since. He even said he thought you were the kind of person
he would love to spend the rest of his life with. But since you were gone,
he knew that would be impossible."
Steve could hardly catch his breath. "Did he really say that, Michael? Do
you think he meant it?"
"Yes, he did say that, Steve," said Michael. "And, believe me, he meant
it. You know, Steve, if you were still down here, I know that he would
want to get together with you again. He has a big condo, and I think he
gets a little lonely now and then."
Steve could feel adrenaline pumping through his body. "My God, there IS
life after death!"
"What's that you say, Steve?"
"Oh, nothing, Michael. You know, I'm not sure right now, but I may be
coming back. And if I do, I'll be sure to get some work. I promise not to
mooch off of you anymore." Steve's hand was shaking almost uncontrollably,
and he could hear the telephone receiver tapping rapidly against the rim of
his glasses.
"Steve, you're a really nice person, and there's no one we would love to
have back here than you. If you do come back, don't worry about finding
work right away. You're welcome to stay here at the house as long as you
need to."
After they hung up, Steve began to feel himself shaking all over. He knew
that now was the time when a decision had to be made . . . a final decision
. . . an absolutely final decision. And he knew what the decision would
be. There would be the unpleasantness of breaking up again, this time
going for a divorce or at least a legal separation. He had given the
marriage a second chance, he reasoned, but it was clear that it was simply
not going to work. He had kidded himself long enough about his sexuality.
His overpowering homosexual desires and longings were simply not compatible
with the humdrum day-in-and-day-out life with a woman, who would never in a
million years understand and put up with those longings. Staying with it
wouldn't be fair to either of them. He should have realized that long ago.
The next morning, Michael drove alone up to the hospital in Dallas to see
Jared again. He wasn't at all sure why he wanted to do it. He thought
perhaps it might have something to do with at last having Jared where he
wanted him . . . immobile and unable to speak. For once Michael could do
all the talking.
As Michael was heading down the hall toward the ICU, he ran into Father
Taft, making his hospital visits to those prisoners who were sequestered
there.
"Oh, Mr. Walker, I'm glad to see that you have decided to visit your
brother. I understand you were here the other day, also."
"That's right, Father. I suppose it's my brotherly duty to visit him while
he's in such bad shape. Otherwise, I would stay as far away from him as
possible."
Father Taft took Michael by the arm and said, "Mr. Walker, may I call you
Michael? Come on in here and have a seat with me in the waiting room for a
few minutes. There are a few things I probably should tell you that I
hadn't mentioned before."
As they both seated themselves in the waiting room, Michael said, "I
suppose you're going to tell me it's my natural duty to love my brother and
stand by him."
"Michael," began Father Taft, "I'm fully aware of what your feelings toward
your brother have been. As you know, he confessed to me all of the
terrible things he has done in his life."
"Does that mean we're supposed to consider that none of those things ever
happened just because he confessed doing them?" asked Michael.
"No, no, not at all. Confession is merely a cleansing of the soul. In no
way is it a denial that it ever happened.."
"Okay, what is it you wanted to tell me," said Michael with a little
impatience.
"You are aware, aren't you," said Father Taft, "that in every prison, there
is sexual activity among the prisoners."
"Yes, I've read that it's prevalent," said Michael.
"Well, no one can deny that a man's sexual appetite does not diminish just
because he's incarcerated. Masturbation is a major nocturnal activity in a
prison. And sometimes . . . in fact, rather frequently . . . the inmates
have anal intercourse with one another. Right or wrong, that is a fact of
prison life. Your brother's libido was no less than any other prisoner's.
One day, he was given the chance to have anal sex with a young teenaged
boy, who was also a prisoner. And he took it. But when he saw the boy,
and could tell how ravaged and abused he had been by other prisoners, Jared
refused to have anal sex with him, and vowed to protect him from further
such abuse at the hands of any of the other prisoners. Jared had the boy
moved into his cell, and over the next few weeks, instead of a sexual
relationship, it became a true father and son relationship. For the first
time in Jared's life, he put selfishness aside to help this young man.
And, Michael, in the process, he realized what a terrible thing he had done
to his own son, who was about the same age, by cruelly renouncing him.
"Michael, you need to know that his contrition for all the evil he has done
in his life is deep. The young man he took in and befriended was murdered
by one of the other prisoners. The grief and hurt that Jared felt was
genuine. Michael, whatever Jared was, he is no more. I don't want to
preach to you , Michael, but I want to tell you that Jared has knelt down,
and has been forgiven through God's grace. You need to find it in your
heart to also forgive your brother, your own flesh and blood.
Patting Michael on the shoulder, Father Taft got up and continued his
rounds. Could it be true, Michael thought, that Jared did actually regret
all he had done, and was now changed? Entering Jared's cubicle. It seemed
to Michael that Jared had not moved an inch since his last visit. While
Jared, on the first visit, seemed to have depravity and malevolence written
all over his face, Michael thought he now saw traces of tenderness and
loving-kindness in Jared's face. On his first visit, Michael merely
touched Jared's hand. He now picked up Jared's whole hand and held it
firmly in his own. Jared's hand felt limp and unresistant . . . almost
child-like. Here Jared was, so exposed, so vulnerable, no longer in
control.
Thoughts raced through Michael's head. Would Jared ever recover? If he
did, would there have been brain damage? Will he ever be able to take care
of himself. Will he be a mental and physical invalid, and will I need to
be his guardian, and have him living with us? As Michael held onto Jared's
hand, he thought he noticed a brief fluttering of Jared's eyelids. But it
stopped almost as soon as it started.
Just then a young male nurse came in with a tray and some long tubing.
"Mr. Walker, I'm going to have to change the catheter on this patient. It
you want to step out while I do it, you may."
"No," replied Michael. "He's my brother. I've seen his penis plenty of
times through the years."
As the nurse threw back the sheet and raised Jared's hospital gown, he
said, "Damn! He's got a hard-on again." Then turning to Michael, he said,
"It's very common for men who are in a coma to have a constant erection.
It's similar to the erections we get in our sleep. But the problem is that
when we have erections, the valve between the eurethra and the bladder
closes, and it becomes very difficult to get the catheter up through the
penis and into the bladder."
"Why does the valve close into the bladder when we have an erection?" asked
Michael.
"Well, when we have an erection," said the orderly, "It is often a signal
to the body that we are headed for an ejaculation. And so the bladder
closes itself off so that no urine will come out through the penis as we're
cumming . . . or rather ejaculating. You've probably noticed that when you
have a really hard erection, it is almost impossible to pee. If you could
pee while you're cumming, what a mess that might end up being!"
"Well, thank you, young man for the explanation. I think I understand
now," said Michael. "How are you going to get that tube up my brother's
penis and into his bladder if he's got a hard-on?"
"Well, I can't wait once I take the other one out. I simply have to force
the new one in."
As the orderly worked away on getting the tube down through Jared's very
stiff hard-on, Michael watched. Once again, his mind went back to when
they were boys. He had played many times with that penis when they were
very young. Before they had known anything about masturbation, they would
suck on each others little two-inch hard-ons and enjoyed it only because
they knew they were considered "private" parts. As he watched, he wondered
if he would ever suck on Jared's penis again.
As soon as the nurse finished, Michael looked at him and said, "Young man,
you look like you've got a bit of a boner yourself."
The young man chuckled and said, "I know. Every time I work on someone
else's penis like this, I get hard myself."
"Well, I guess that's natural," said Michael with a smile. "Just watching
the way you handled my brother's penis made me pretty hard, too." Looking
at his watch, he said, "Well, it looks like my time is up here. I'd better
head back home. But first, I think I'll stop in the restroom and take care
of this," Michael said, pointing to his crotch.
Michael entered the restroom at the end of the hall and stood at one of the
urinals. His penis was still hard. As he held it, he thought that young
man was right. There was no way he could pee while it was hard. As he
began to stroke it, the young male nurse came in and stood at the next
urinal.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Walker. I really hope you don't mind my coming and
standing next to you," said the young man as he unfurled his stiff penis
from his pants. "You said you were coming in here to 'take care' of this,
and I really thought that, since you mentioned it, you might not mind if I
came in and took care of mine, too. But if you rather not have me here, I
. . . ."
"Hey, don't worry about it, Robert," Michael said, glancing at the young
man's nametag. I'm glad you came in. This room is for men only, we
obviously both have to jerk off. Why be shy about it? The way you were
fumbling with my brother's penis back there, I thought you were going to
make him cum."
"I've tried that on some patients," said Robert. "But it never works,
especially if the guy is in a coma!"
Michael looked down at Robert's penis, which the young man was slowly
stroking. "Say, you've really got some rod there. I don't know that I've
ever seen anything quite that long."
"It's just short of nine and a half inches. I measured it once."
"Wow!"
Keeping their eyes on each others penises, they both began stroking faster
and faster. Michael could see that Robert's face begin to contort and
noticed that the head of Robert's penis had actually grown in size.
Michael knew that Robert was about to cum, so he let his own pent-up orgasm
take over. Just then two doctors in white coats walked in and stood at the
urinals on either side of Michael and Robert. Neither one, however, could
put the breaks on their orgasms and, while the two doctors watched, they
each started bucking their hips and letting out short moans as they shot
their streams of cum into the urinals.
When they were through, Michael was afraid to look at the doctors' faces
for fear of what he would see. He quickly pushed his wilting and still
dripping penis back in his pants and, without even washing his hands,
rushed out of the room. He still had some cum on his fingers, which he
quickly sucked off. Robert followed behind him.
"Thank you, Mr. Walker," said Robert. "That was hot."
"I hope you won't get in trouble with those doctors, Robert," said Michael.
"Oh no," said Robert. "They've seen me jerking off at the urinal many
times before. Maybe I'll see you again on your next visit. Okay?"
"Maybe," responded Michael. "I've got to run now."
The day after Mark and Corky delivered their new friend, Pierre, to his
door, Mark called Pierre to see if he would like to come over for dinner
that night. It was Pierre's night off.
Pierre said, "I would love to, but I have a good friend here now who is
helping me set up some recording equipment in my room. He went with me
this afternoon to help me look for it and buy it."
Mark said, "Will he be free for dinner, Pierre? If so, please ask him if
he'd like to join us. If he's a friend of yours, he'll be more than
welcome."
"Okay, I'll call you back in a couple of minutes," said Pierre.
When Pierre called back, he said, "Yes, he'd love to come as long as you're
friends of mine."
"That's great, Pierre!" said Mark. "We're very informal, Pierre, so I hope
you're dressed informally."
"Well, I'm in shorts," said Pierre, "and so is my friend."
"How do you know he's in shorts?" asked Mark
"Well, I just got through looking at him a few minutes ago . . . with my
fingers, of course."
"Really?"
"Really!" responded Pierre. "And he's got the most beautiful dimples in
his knees!"
"Oh, that sounds nice!" said Mark. "How about coming over about six,
okay?"
"Okay," said Pierre. Then lowering his voice, he said, "He seems to like
being 'looked at,' but I'm not entirely certain about whether he really is
. . . you know."
"Don't worry, Pierre," said Mark. "We're very discrete, and we won't make
any quick moves. We'll be perfect gentlemen."
When they arrived, Pierre introduced his friend. "Mark and Corky, I would
like you meet my friend, Jason."
It was written all over Jason that he worked out at a gym somewhere. In a
t-shirt and shorts, he presented himself as though right out of the pages
of GQ with the manners to suit. Firmly grasping the hands of Mark and
Corky in turn, he said, "I'm pleased to meet you both and wish to thank you
for inviting me. Pierre told me how you rescued him after being locked
out. We both appreciate your helpfulness."
Jason's masculine beauty almost sent Mark and Corky reeling. Mark said,
"We don't have a really fancy dinner tonight. It's just a chicken
casserole, a salad, and some French bread. Please sit down and make
yourselves comfortable."
Corky said, "How about a drink, you two? We have everything . . . wine,
beer, Scotch, Bourbon, gin. Also I'd be glad to mix a cocktail if you'd
like one. What will you have, Jason?"
Jason said, "I think I would like a Manhattan with sweet vermouth and a
cherry, if it would not be too much trouble."
"Not at all. And you, Pierre?" asked Corky
"I'll just have some Scotch on the rocks, thank you."
As the four of them sat with their drinks in hand, Jason lifted his glass
and said, "Here's to you, Mark and Corky, for the kindness you have shown
my dear friend, Pierre!"
The next morning, Michael was sitting at the kitchen table eating his
breakfast when the phone rang. Tony answered and handed the phone to
Michael. "It's for you, Michael," said Tony as he turned to resume filling
the dishwasher.
"Hello."
"Mr. Walker, this is Robert."
"Uh . . . Robert? Robert who?" said Michael.
"I'm Robert, the guy who takes care of your brother."
"Is he alright?" said Michael. "Has something happened?"
"No, he's okay, even though he's still in a coma. I just wanted to talk to
you."
"How did you know where to phone me?" queried Michael.
"I got it off the visitors' register you signed at the desk."
"Why did you want to talk with me?"
"Oh, I just wanted to tell you how nice it was to meet you, and how I
enjoyed being with you in the restroom."
"Well," responded Michael, "Yes, I enjoyed it too. I hope you didn't get
in any trouble."
"No I didn't. I was just wondering when you would be coming back to visit
your brother. I'd like to see you again."
"I'm not sure when I'll be back, Robert. Why do you want to see me again?"
Robert said, "I thought maybe we could do what we did again. You know,
jerking off next to each other."
"Well, I don't think so. I didn't mean for that to happen. It just
happened. Let's just forget it."
"I can't forget it, Mr. Walker. I really like you. And I want to see you
again."
Michael said, "When I go up there next time, you'll see me then. But I'm
not going to do what we did. That was just a spur of the moment thing, as
I told you."
"Mr. Walker? May I call you Michael?"
"Whatever you wish, Robert," said Michael.
"I'll be here when you come next. I really like you, Michael."
Michael began to get a bit impatient. "Robert, I have things to do, and I
need to hang up now."
Hanging up, Michael looked at Tony and said, "That was a really strange
phone call. It was the male nurse who has been looking after Jared up in
Dallas. He thinks he wants to see me again."
Tony said, "Why does he want to see you?"
"Well, Tony, he and I had kind of an unplanned episode in one of the
restrooms up there. And I guess he enjoyed it enough to want a repeat."
"What did the two of you do, Michael," asked Tony.
"All we did was stand at adjoining urinals, and the first thing I knew we
were jerking off together as we stood there. It really meant nothing to
me. But it apparently was a big deal to him, and he wants to do it again
with me. When I go up there again, I suppose I'll have to deal with that
situation. I told him 'no' on the phone, and I'll have to tell him 'no'
when I see him."
Later that evening, Michael was doing some paper work in his office when
his phone rang.
"Hello."
"Hi, Michael. It's Robert again. What are you doing?"
"Robert," said Michael. "It's almost midnight. Why are you calling me at
this hour?"
"I've just been thinking about you," purred Robert. "Do you know what I'm
doing now?"
"I hate to ask," said Michael.
"I have my nine and a half incher out and I'm lying here stroking it and
thinking about you. When we were jerking off, I saw you looking at it.
You liked it, didn't you?"
"Robert, get off the phone, and don't call me again."
"Oh, Michael, why don't you take out your beautiful cock and we can jack
off together right now."
Michael hung up the phone and walked down the hall to Tony and Clayton's
room. When he knocked, Tony told him to come in. They were both lying
naked in each other's arms.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, you guys."
"You didn't interrupt," said Tony. "We're all done. What's the matter
Michael?"
Michael said, "You know that phone call I got from this Robert person
earlier? He just got through calling me again. From now on, if he calls,
and you answer the phone, Tony, please tell him that I will not talk to
him, or maybe just tell him I'm not in."
"I'll do that, Michael. I'll get rid of him."
"Goodnight boys," said Michael. Then he paused at the door and said,
"Damn! You two look so cute lying there like that! I've got to give you
both a good night kiss." Walking over to their bed, he leaned over, put
his hands on their little ass cheeks and kissed them both on the lips.
As he was leaving, he said, "You guys sleep tight now, and have sweet
dreams!"
Comments? Write me!
Tom Borden
Tombor99@yahoo.com